


In another life, maybe

by maraudersly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-26
Updated: 2009-05-26
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersly/pseuds/maraudersly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe, in another life, she could've been his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In another life, maybe

**Author's Note:**

> I am in the process of translating my old Harry Potter fanfiction (ahem, drabbles mostly) and posting it here so I can have it all in one place. Please forgive any mistakes and general bad writing, all of them are five years old or more.

**In another life, maybe.**  
 _by maraudersly_

* * *

She moved graciously around the ballroom, all eyes focused on her movements. She was an explosion of colours – the brown of her hair, the blue of her eyes, the gold and red of her dress –, she was, indeed, the life of the party. Always had been. All the colours of the rainbow reflected on her pale skin as the small faeries kept in sync with her dancing.

The music in the background flowed around her, becoming as soft and graceful as the young woman's steps. Soft, but firm. A cheerful melody, light and full of life, that represented to anyone who heard it everything Minerva's image was constantly exuding. 

Always so elated and lively. In that moment, letting a joyful smile slip through the cracks of her always composed semblance, several waves of hair escaping the perfectly pinned bun atop her head. Strands of hair that perfectly framed her humid face. Still, she had never looked more beautiful.

Black pressed against a wall, Tom watched her from a corner of the room, enchanted. The crease on his forehead and crossed arms seemingly telling a different story. She represented everything that he was not. Colours, melodies and beauty – not physical beauty, which he possessed as well, but the real kind. The kind of beauty that came from within the soul and shone through to the exterior, much like the sun after a rainy morning.

Maybe they had been made for each other. Maybe, if he wasn't who he was and they had met in another time, and a different place. Maybe they were like the sun and the moon, sharing the same sky, but forever apart. Maybe, in another life, she could've been his.


End file.
